


Baby, We Were Born to Run

by MissYouSoFar



Series: Baby, We Were Born to Run [1]
Category: Cold Case
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-16
Updated: 2014-07-16
Packaged: 2018-02-09 01:43:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 841
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1964205
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MissYouSoFar/pseuds/MissYouSoFar
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There never is a moment Coop can clearly define. He can’t pick a day, a time, and say this -- this -- is when it changed. It’s just something that is there and maybe always has been and somehow he knows. This isn't something that is changing or going away. It’s hinged in Jimmy’s smile, the crinkle of wrinkles at the corners of his eyes when he laughs, and the soft curve of his mouth.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Baby, We Were Born to Run

**Author's Note:**

> This is all piney61 's fault for prompting me with, "How Coop came to realize his feelings for Jimmy. Like just the angst of the whole "He's a married dude, WTF" or what not.". Er, also, neither Jimmy, Cooper, or Cold Case belong to me. They belong to the lovely people at...I think CBS. (Also? All the dialogue in the last two sections is directly from the episode. It's just. Specifically from Coop's POV, I guess. IDK.) Title stolen borrowed from Bruce Springsteen's "Born to Run". ALSO, a million thanks to danse_amore ,blue_icy_rose , and lozan_starr for listening to my bitching and for reading this in various states of disorder! ♥

There never is a moment Coop can clearly define. He can’t pick a day, a time, and say this --  _this_ \-- is when it changed. It’s just something that is  _there_ and maybe always has been and somehow he  _knows_. This isn't something that is changing or going away. It’s hinged in Jimmy’s smile, the crinkle of wrinkles at the corners of his eyes when he laughs, and the soft curve of his mouth.  
  
At first Coops thinks his…feelings for Jimmy, or whatever  _this_ is that is all heat and grab low in his belly, is a lot like being shot. He’s scared, in pain, and he can’t  _breathe_ , but...  Coop knows when you’re shot, you've got two options: either they find you, stop the bleeding, stitch you up, or you bleed, bleed, bleed.  
  
Coop knows what he  _should_ want, what is  _right_ for him to want, but Jesus, his  _heart_ wants Jimmy and fighting  _that_ is like fighting not to breathe. Coop wouldn't even know where to start. They’re partners, forever blue. How do you fight that?  
  
\--  
  
Jimmy likes to talk about Eileen a lot, when the job is slow, or when they pass a kid’s clothing store on patrol. Every story, every fond smile, everything makes the gunshot in Coop’s heart bleed just a little bit more.  He’s almost used to the ever-present trickle, but he has to wonder how much blood he has left to bleed.  
  
Jimmy turns his hands over the wheel, cuts a little too close to the curb. Coop opens his mouth planning to rag on Jimmy’s driving, but the sun catches the gold band on Jimmy’s left hand and all that comes out is an aborted half word.  
  
“You okay, Coop?” Jimmy has that  _stupid_ grin on his face. The one that makes Coop have to bite his lip to squash down how much he  _wants_ him.  
  
The lie comes to him easily. “M’fine. Had a late night.”  
  
He lets Jimmy take what he wants from that.  
  
\--  
  
Coop’s control is fuzzy with alcohol and summer heat. He knows he should have stopped drinking a few swigs ago. He can’t afford a loosened tongue, but being around Jimmy gets easier with the more whiskey he puts in his belly.  
  
  
“It ain't about fear. You know what it’s about.”  
  
He can’t help watch Jimmy’s mouth around the lip of the bottle. Jimmy always closes his eyes when he swallows and Coop greedily watches the bob of his Adam’s apple. “What’s it about, Jimmy?”  
  
“Keeping my job? I ain’t going against McCree.” Jimmy shifts restlessly.  
  
Coop can‘t keep as tight a rein on his anger as he can when he's sober. All the anger at McCree, freaking Teddy Burke, and the helpless bitterness at himself simmering under the surface of his skin. He thinks, maybe, he’s done all the bleeding he can. There isn’t anything left to bother stitching up. “So, that makes it alright to be on the take?”  
  
“Everything’s always black and white with you. You don‘t know anything.”  
  
\--  
  
“You miss that free pass to kill, don't you?”  
  
There’s a soft slur in his voice and Coop knows he shouldn’t react but whatever hold he had on his anger, on anything, snaps. He backhands Jimmy with enough force to knock Jimmy and the chair to the ground. He punches him again before he can think,  the skin on his knuckles splitting open, sweat and whiskey seeping into the cracked skin. “You’re right. That was fun.”  
  
They grapple clumsily, alcohol-soaked limbs heavy and awkward. Neither of them able to get a proper grip. Jimmy’s hands seem to be everywhere and even though he’s angry, he can’t help but focus on the heat they leave behind, on his lower back and the soft skin of his stomach.  
  
Coop shoves Jimmy away from him violently. His blood thrums heavily through his veins, the sound of Jimmy’s soft pants and the rushing sound of blood all he can hear. For the first time in… forever, he feels  _alive_.  
  
His hands meet Jimmy’s neck with a heavy, resounding noise, almost blocking out the soft oomph Jimmy makes as their lips collide. Coop feels the solid press of Jimmy’s hand through the thin cotton of his shirt, the raised edge of Jimmy’s ring biting into his skin.  
  
Jimmy shoves out of the circle of Coop’s arm, looking as confused as Coop has ever seen him, something new and frail shining behind his eyes.  
  
Coop stares at Jimmy, waiting. A minute. Two.  It’s so quiet, just crickets and their breathing, that Coop hears the gentle shuffle of Jimmy’s feet moving forward across the grass.  
  
Jimmy’s fingertips press hard enough to tattoo Coop’s neck, his cropped nails leaving rows of crescents in the skin. A gentle thumb swipes across his cheekbone, such a contrast to the hands against his neck, and the sharp sting of Jimmy’s teeth on his bottom lip.  
  
He curls the material of Jimmy’s shirt in his hands, holding him close and  _finally_ he doesn't have to fight to breathe.


End file.
